


Tall, Dark, and Belstaff

by Dimity Blue (Arnie)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:36:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnie/pseuds/Dimity%20Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do the married ones next door think of Sherlock and John?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tall, Dark, and Belstaff

It was a surprise to Matt to see Ryan in the window, his nose pressed up against the window pane and the glass misting up with his breath. Matt waved but got no response and he shrugged as he unlocked their front door. Maybe Ryan had taken up pavement watching? It wouldn't be the weirdest hobby his husband had adopted.

"Evening, Mrs. Turner," he called.

Predictably, her door sprang open and she came bustling out. "Evening, love. You'll never guess what..." Matt didn't even have time to take a breath to answer before she continued, "Mrs. Hudson's got a lodger."

"That'll be nice for her," Matt said, swapping his shopping bags to his other hand and accepting the duster she gave him. He gave it a puzzled look, wondering why she'd given it to him. "I hope he's a quiet sort."

"Oh, she didn't say. Just said that he's someone she knows from Florida."

"American, then." Matt looked at the duster again. "Do you want me to do something with this?"

"The light fitting, if you please. My step-stool broke this morning and I haven't been able to reach it."

"Right ho." Matt gave it a quick dust, not that there was any dust on it, and handed the duster back.

"Very posh, he is. Not that I lingered. I just caught a glimpse of him while he was moving his things in. Thank you!" The duster disappeared into her pocket, but Mrs. Turner stayed in view. "It'll be nice for her to have the company, to say nothing of the rent. I don't know how she's managing. A big house like that and all on her own."

Matt nodded and edged towards the stairs, having heard Mrs. Turner on the subject before. If she followed her usual pattern, it'd be the council tax next.

"To say nothing of the council tax. God knows what they spend the money on - it's not emptying the bins, I tell you that!"

"Probably the mayor's new car," Matt said.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Mrs. Turner replied, a dark tone in her voice. "I've never trusted him; his eyes are too close together." She nodded sharply. "Anyway, my carrots will be boiling over. I'll see you later, love."

Matt heaved a sigh of relief for boiled carrots and carried on up the stairs.

"Evening, love."

Oddly, Ryan didn't even turn his head as he returned the greeting.

Matt dumped his bags in the kitchen and waited, then went back into the sitting room. "What are you doing?"

"Watching out for the new lodger. Mrs. Hudson's got one."

Giving it up, Matt returned to the kitchen. "So I heard. What's he like?"

"Gorgeous!" Ryan sounded surprisingly enthusiastic. "Tall, dark, and Belstaff."

Oh no. Matt abandoned the shopping. "Please tell me you haven't been lusting after the poor man's coat."

Ryan turned his head at that, his dark eyes filled with mischief. "Only from afar. And there's no way he's poor - not with that coat." He turned back to the street, then stopped, giving Matt a confused look. "You're late. Why are you late? It's almost seven o'clock."

"Dentist, remember? I said I'd grab the shopping on my way back. Or has the coat addled your brains?"

"Oh, I forgot! So what was the verdict?"

"Root canal." Matt started unpacking the shopping. "I'll have to have it next week."

Ryan followed him in and removed the pack of Fox's chunkie cookies from his hand. "That explains the biscuits."

"It's only one pack." Matt took the biscuits back and stuck them in the cupboard, ignoring Ryan's look.

"Just don't wake me up in the middle of the night when you've got a piece stuck in your tooth and it's giving you hell." Ryan took over unpacking the shopping and Matt retreated to put the kettle on.

He'd just flicked the switch when there was the sound of a car door slamming, and Ryan practically flew towards the window to resume his gawking.

"Leave the poor man alone!"

Ryan didn't even glance over his shoulder. "I think he's got a flatmate. He's shaking hands with a blond guy with a walking stick. Now they're going in!"

"The excitement of living on Baker Street!" Matt said, his tone full of fake enthusiasm. "Isn't it a good job you're home from work right now? What will you do tomorrow? Set up cameras to spy on them?" He grinned at the sour look Ryan was giving him.

"You can scoff, but I want to know who my neighbours are."

Matt shook his head. "There's a difference between being interested in the neighbours and practically dangling headfirst out of the window to eavesdrop on them."

"I did not dangle headfirst out of the window!"

"Only because I wouldn't hold onto your ankles." As Ryan's face lit up with glee, Matt hastily said, "Don't even go there! Mrs. Turner would be shocked if she could hear you."

"I'm sure she's worked out by now that we're having sex. What with us being a married couple and all. Anyway, she's probably heard it all..."

Ryan's voice trailed off and Matt looked up from the kettle to see what had caught his interest, then blinked in surprise at the flashing lights he could see. Ryan was, of course, back at the window.

"Oh my God, oh my God! It's him - that detective you liked on the telly! Quick!" Ryan's hand flapped in his direction. "You're going to - he's..." He stepped back, sighing with disappointment. "You missed him! He's gone inside!"

"What? Who?"

"That detective! The...what was he? That inspector!"

Matt shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The one with the eyes!"

There were times when Matt thought Ryan was losing it. "They all have eyes, Ry. That's how they detect things."

"Oh, God, you are just... You called him a silver fox! The one on the news talking about suicides!"

"What? Lestrade?" Matt hurried over to the window and stared down at the police car. "Where?"

"I told you, he went inside."

"Are you sure it was him?"

Ryan nodded, a smug look on his face. "Silver fox, gorgeous eyes...even better looking in person."

"You saw him for less than a minute."

"Less than a minute is all it takes. Just wait until I tell Betty tomorrow." Ryan gave him a glance, then continued, "She fancies him even more than you do."

"I don't fancy him. Well, not much," he amended, the lie making him uncomfortable.

Ryan gave a quiet, sceptical hum. "Betty fancies him. It's a good thing she's not here. She'd be out there with her walking frame, claiming to need the kiss of life and trying to get him to frisk her. You should have heard her the other night - look, I told you!"

Matt slid the net curtain back a bit and gazed down, then froze as the man on the pavement turned and looked up at him. As Lestrade raised his eyebrows, Matt felt his face heat up, then he gave a little wave and let the net curtain fall back into place.

As he hurried back to the kitchen, he heard Ryan's voice from behind him. "You just twiddled your fingers at Lestrade of the Yard. Just wait until I tell Betty!"

"I did not. And there's nothing to tell."

"It's a good thing she's over ninety and not too fast with her walking frame or I'd be worried what she'd do to you."

"I'm not scared of a little old lady in a nursing home."

Ryan snorted. "Little old lady. That little old lady went through World War 2. That little old lady may well have been a member of the French Resistance. That -"

"She's not French!"

"That wouldn't have stopped her, trust me. She's scary now; I dread to think what she was like in her twenties. I bet all the local lads were terrified of her." There was a gasp of excitement. "They're going out! Together! They're getting in a taxi!"

"Oh my God." Matt crossed the room, snagged one of Ryan's wrists and pulled him towards the kitchen. "Let's make dinner. Together. And you can tell me all about Betty's war-time exploits and how she saved Britain."

~~~

It wasn't until dinner had been made and eaten that Ryan's attention was drawn back to the street outside, and Matt sighed again as Ryan resumed his stance by the window and began talking.

"It's him - tall, dark, and Belstaff. He's getting out of a taxi - alone! With a suitcase. A pink suitcase." Ryan turned and gave Matt a confused look. "Why would he have a pink suitcase?"

"He's only just moved in. It's probably the last of his things." Matt turned his attention back to the stock market page in his newspaper, his mind more on the stocks and less on the guy next door.

"But pink? It wasn't just ordinary pink either; it was fuchsia."

"Nothing wrong with a pink suitcase." Maybe if he sold those shares. He hadn't been happy with them to start with but Jason at work seemed to think they'd pick up...

"He doesn't seem the type. Not with that coat."

The problem was that you couldn't tell what the stock market would do. Matt appreciated the nest egg he'd accumulated - if anything happened to him, Ryan wouldn't have to worry about money, not between the nest egg and the life insurance - so he wasn't about to spend it all on shares, no matter how good a tip Jason thought he had.

"You're not listening, are you?"

Matt sighed, folded the paper and put it down. "Pink suitcase, he doesn't seem the type. Did I miss anything?"

"Fuchsia. It's a fuchsia suitcase."

"Fuchsia's pink and you said pink."

"Yes, but who'd have a fuchsia suitcase?"

"Obviously the guy next door. Are you going to spend all evening watching out for him?"

There was a short pause as Ryan looked at him, then he left the window and made his way to the sofa. "No, of course not." As he thumped down into the seat beside Matt, he added, "But you're not reading the paper all night!"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

True to his word, Ryan stayed in his seat. It was Matt who heard the quiet purr of a very expensive car and practically ran for the window, Ryan at his heels, to take a look and give a whistle of appreciation for the discreet-looking car outside.

Ryan nudged him. "That's the guy who was shaking hands with him earlier - the flatmate!"

As the guy limped his way across the pavement and disappeared out of sight, the car slid off down the road and Matt let the curtain drop back into place. "He has wealthy friends."

"I wonder why he's getting a flat as a flatmate. He can't be that well off himself."

"Who knows? Maybe he doesn't want to live alone."

They had possibly five minutes of peace before the front door slammed shut and Ryan ran for the window.

Matt sighed. "It's like living next door to a jack-in-the-box. Ryan, for God's sake..."

"It's all right." Ryan sat down and snuggled into his side. "They've just gone off up the street."

"I'm amazed you haven't followed them. You could wear a disguise."

"Stop being grumpy and put that documentary back on. I want to see the end before I have to go to bed."

Matt turned the sound back on and consoled himself with the thought that Belstaff and Blond had probably gone out for dinner. With luck, they'd be gone for an hour or more.

It was far less than an hour before Matt realised the police were back, and he and Ryan bolted for the window as the flashing lights made their presence known even through the curtains.

"Oh my God..." Ryan practically breathed the words, as if afraid the coppers below would hear.

Matt nodded. Whatever was going on with them next door, it had to be serious. Lestrade was there with some coppers and what looked like forensic scientists. Most of them disappeared inside number 221, leaving a couple of coppers to get back into the panda car and police van and drive off up the street. Matt let the curtain go and turned to look at Ryan, seeing his own shock reflected on Ryan's face.

"Do you think they're criminals?" Ryan sounded almost awed at the thought.

"What? No!" They couldn't be...could they?

Ryan curled up on the sofa and hugged his knees. "Lestrade's investigating those serial suicides." He gasped. "What if they're murders? What if Tall, Dark, and Belstaff is killing them all?!"

"How?" Matt felt that one of them had to remain sane and sensible, and it looked like it had to be him.

Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"See? You can't force people to commit suicide. It's...probably a coincidence." Matt really didn't believe that and couldn't blame Ryan for the sceptical look he gave him.

"So why is Lestrade of the Yard next door with half a dozen forensic scientists? They don't dress like that for fun - no one's that fashion-challenged!"

Matt sat down. "I have no idea. He can't be a serial killer though; he's living with Mrs. Hudson!" Matt had met Mrs. Hudson and he couldn't imagine her as the type to get involved with criminals.

"It's not as though she'd know. Serial killers don't tell you they're serial killers!" Ryan bounced to his feet and went back to the window. "I wonder how long they'll be - the flatmates, I mean. They've got to come back at some point."

Matt eyed the clock. "It won't be long before you need to go to bed." As Ryan cast him a disgusted look, Matt said, "Would you like me to stay by the window and take notes?"

"I'm not going to bed until I know what's happening. I'll just be tired in work tomorrow."

"You're always tired in work, Ry; they keep you on your feet all day. And you've got a twelve hour shift to get through." Typically, Ryan was ignoring him. Matt reached for the remote control, then changed his mind. There was no point turning the documentary back on when he knew, one word from Ryan, and he'd be up at the window and gawking at the neighbours. Matt sighed; he used to be such a respectable sort.

"This is the most exciting thing that's happen in Baker Street all year," Ryan said. "I'm not missing a minute of it." After a minute, he added, "Do you think we could send Mrs. T. in as a Trojan horse?"

Matt grinned. "I think Lestrade of the Yard might notice something's up if we dress Mrs. Turner as a wooden horse and leave her outside 221."

Ryan sighed. "Sarcasm. I meant, get her to go in to borrow sugar or something."

"I know what you meant, and no we can't."

"They're back!"

Matt rushed to the window and was just in time to see the pair of them disappear inside. He wondered how long until they came out again, maybe in handcuffs.

"Hey, isn't that Angelo from that restaurant round the corner?"

The figure passed through another pool of light thrown by a street lamp and Matt nodded. "So it is. And he must know those guys," he added as Angelo beat a quick tattoo on 221's door.

"The flatmate must have forgotten his walking stick," Ryan said. "He was limping earlier."

"He seemed to be walking just fine before..." Matt trailed off as the sound of raised voices came through the wall.

Ryan gave a gasp and dashed for the kitchen, coming back with two glasses, one of which he handed to Matt.

Matt gazed at it, puzzled, then gave an outraged, "Ryan!" as Ryan put the glass against the wall and pressed his ear to it. Ryan ignored him and Matt held out for about ten seconds before joining him. The muffled voices were hard to understand but he had to admit the glass helped. "I can't believe we're eavesdropping on the neighbours."

There was silence for a moment, then Ryan said, "I wish we had a peephole."

"We shouldn't be listening at all!" Matt pressed his ear harder against the glass. Who was Anderson? Whoever was speaking didn't sound happy.

"A drugs bust! Oh my God! Wait until I tell the guys in work!"

Matt shook his head. "I can't believe it. Mrs. Hudson couldn't have known!" A minute more and Matt sighed and straightened up. "Eyes in microwaves? Ryan, I think they've figured out we're listening in."

"I don't see how they could." Ryan gave Matt an evil look. "Lestrade sounds stern."

Matt refused to be drawn. "They're playing us. They know we're listening. There's no way they're talking about eyeballs in microwaves."

Ryan gave him an annoyed glance. "That's what it sounded like - and I'm trying to listen!"

Matt left his glass on the coffee table and sat down. "Give me one good reason why there'd be eyeballs in the microwave."

There was a long pause, then Ryan put the glass down. "Fine. He was shouting at everyone to shut up anyway." Instead of sitting down, he headed for the window. "There's a taxi pulling up," he said, just as the sound of the engine cut out.

"It's probably their get away vehicle." Matt turned the documentary back on and ignored the look Ryan was giving him. "Any minute now, Belstaff and Blond will fight their way out, armed only with a walking stick, and disappear into the mists of Olde London Towne, never to be seen again." He paused dramatically, then added, "If we're lucky, that is."

"The taxi driver's gone inside."

"Mrs. Hudson can be the get away driver then. They'll be putting out an APB on her. Mrs. Hudson, armed and dangerous, last seen wearing a pinnie."

He got another look for that. "You're not funny, you know. Mrs. Hudson's too respectable to be anyone's get away driver."

"Still waters, Ryan."

Ryan gave a snort, then, "The taxi driver's back outside. He's waiting for someone."

"So am I! Are we going to watch this or not?" As Ryan gave him an apologetic look, Matt turned off the telly. "Fine. Tell me all about the taxi driver then."

The apologetic look disappeared and Ryan turned back to the poor, unsuspecting taxi driver. "He's waiting. He's wearing a flat-cap and a cardi. He's leaning up against the side of the taxi. Now Tall, Dark, and Belstaff's come out!"

"Is he wearing the coat?"

Ryan nodded. "And a scarf."

"Coat and scarf, it must be serious."

"They're talking." From the position of Ryan's body, Matt guessed he had his ear pressed against the window. "I can't quite hear. They're..." He fell silent, then Matt heard a car door shut, and Ryan turned away from the window.

"What's wrong?"

Ryan came over to the sofa and sat down. His face was pale and his eyes seemed bigger than normal. "I think... It sounded like he said something about Belstaff killing himself."

"The taxi driver said that?" As Ryan nodded, Matt continued, "About Belstaff killing himself?"

Ryan nodded again.

Matt shrugged. "Maybe he's been drink driving or something - he could kill himself doing that. Maybe someone's paid this cabbie to drive him around and he doesn't like it."

"I don't know. It seemed a bit creepy to me."

Matt slung an arm around Ryan's shoulders. "I think Belstaff can look after himself. And I'm sure it's nothing serious. He had a whole flat-full of coppers there. If there was anything going on, they'd notice." Voices outside caught his attention, but this time it was only Matt who went to the windows. "Lestrade of the Yard's leaving, and it looks like he's taking everyone with him." Matt dropped the curtain and went back to the sofa. "Doesn't that prove there's nothing going on?"

"I guess." Ryan looked a bit happier about it all, which was all Matt cared about. "It's still weird they had all the police there. Do you think they found any drugs?"

Matt turned on the documentary and put his arm back around Ryan's shoulders. "I doubt it - Belstaff went off in a taxi and they let him. Don't worry about it. Mrs. Hudson will probably tell Mrs. Turner at some point and, if it is that awful, Mrs. Hudson will evict them. Anyway, I can't imagine we'll hear anything much from them now they've moved in."

"Yeah." Ryan wriggled around and got his feet up on the sofa, then turned his gaze towards the telly. "It's not like anything exciting will ever happen in Baker Street."

The end.  
12th September 2015.


End file.
